


have we sojourned here on earth

by glass_icarus



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-16
Updated: 2009-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-09 08:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glass_icarus/pseuds/glass_icarus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur may be king, but Morgana is running out of time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	have we sojourned here on earth

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/merlin_ficathon/profile)[**merlin_ficathon**](http://community.livejournal.com/merlin_ficathon/) prompt _Morgana/Gwen, "As the flowers wither, I shall go."_ Title is borrowed from an [Aztec Flower Song](http://www.xmission.com/~psneeley/Shareware/aztecpat.htm). A big thank you goes to [](http://wanderlight.livejournal.com/profile)[**wanderlight**](http://wanderlight.livejournal.com/) and [](http://such-heights.livejournal.com/profile)[**such_heights**](http://such-heights.livejournal.com/) for looking this over! &amp;hearts

Morgana wakes pale and shaking in the middle of the night. She looks down at Gwen, a soft, sleeping weight beside her, threads her fingers lightly through the dark, curling ends of Gwen's hair: a talisman against the dreams Mordred sends.

Her days here are numbered, grains of sand trickling relentlessly down through the hourglass in the back of her mind. Arthur is beloved by his subjects, but every day the darkness rises, a seething discontent among the druids and the sorcerers, the remnants of the Old Religion cast out by his father. Even with Merlin at his side, Camelot will not remain undisturbed for long; their malice is too strong, Mordred's influence too far-reaching to be contained.

Mordred's voice is twisted and broken, a slow, seeping poison in her mind. Morgana _knows_ this, can see the black haze of hate and bitterness that lurks beneath his words. Even still, she wants to fix it, wants to heal the wounds in him that have already grown cancerous and malignant. She is strong, but she has never learned to resist the lure of a child, does not know how to defend herself against a mother's instinct.

It will be her downfall in the end. She has dreamt it, as she has dreamt herself walking in the sacred groves of Avalon.

Gwen stirs beside her, distracting Morgana from her thoughts. A small dark hand fumbles in the sheets, and Morgana reaches for it, rubbing gently at the work-roughened skin. The furrow in Gwen's brow smoothes; Morgana smiles, hoping that Gwen's dreams, at least, are sweet.

Morgana reaches out, a tendril of a thought, feeling Arthur's quiet strength at the other end of the castle, entwined with Merlin's golden power: love beyond hope, beyond faith, beyond destiny. Their togetherness is not for her, she knows; her own path is colder, solitary. Her destiny is to keep watch, with the rest of the dreamers and seers, until the day comes when even dreaming passes from the world.

The pang of loneliness that tears at her heart is dulled by familiarity, but it is enough to wake Merlin, ever-alert at Arthur's side.

_Morgana?_

_Sorry. Go back to sleep._

_Is everything all right?_

_It will be. Don't worry, it was just a nightmare._ Morgana breaks their connection, gentle but firm, before he can feel the lie. It dissipates into the night as tentatively as it was formed.

When the wheat grows heavy in the fields, she will go: alone and on horseback, an old palfrey that even Gwen will not know to miss until it is too late. The leaves will still be green on the trees, the summer roses and wildflowers at their fullest bloom, just before their petals begin to droop and wither. Her loneliness now will be as nothing compared to the solitude she will face with all of her loves left behind her, set apart from the rest of the world. Even so, it will be worth it. She has seen to the end of every road, foster-mother and witch-queen and High Priestess of Avalon, and this one leads to the only future in which Camelot will not fall, in which their dreams will not die stillborn.

Morgana slides back beneath the sheets, tucking herself tight against Gwen's side. Later, she will write a letter, words for Gwen to keep when she is gone. Later, she will calculate the sum of her regrets, a full and bitter harvest. For now, she pushes away thoughts of tomorrow and indulges in this small selfishness, cataloging each beloved heartbeat, every precious breath.


End file.
